Doves
by shelter
Summary: Helen x Deneve. It's the end of the world, and Helen won't shut up. Spoilers for manga chapters 116-126.


**DOVES**

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**Disclaimer:** Claymore & its characters belong to Norihiro Yagi & his affiliates

**Rating:** T

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Thanks to the people at Mangahelpers forum - Shiek and Kstefan88 - who provided feedback.

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_"When darkness turns to light, _  
_It ends tonight, it ends tonight."_  
- 'It ends tonight', **All American Rejects**

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From where she's sitting, Deneve can see the light withdraw from the ruins of the city of Staff. Just before it disappears, the sun sets the hills on fire. A moment later, the shadows take over: long lines slicing across the open space where hundreds of corpses lay unburied.

"I like this. Did I tell you I like sunset more than other time of the day?"

"Why?" Deneve asks.

The last shreds of light dissolve in the distance. Above her, Deneve sees a sky turned the colour of an unwashed wound. Shadows climb all around them. The buildings around look like they're covered in fudgy fingerprints.

"It's honest."

"What?"

"It doesn't tell any lies. You know, not like sunrise, that's bright and glowing and full of promise. But then it leads into a long day of death and blood." A pause, then: "With sunset, you just see all the light in the world die in a few moments. Then things go dark, gloomy and black. That's it. Nothing. No more."

"Helen, what the hell are you drinking?" Deneve asks.

She has to turn to see Helen. She's got her legs dangling off the cliff's edge, her sword hand curled around what Deneve knows is a bottle. Even in the bad light, she can see the flush on Helen's face, and a crusted mustache of whatever she's drinking above her lip.

"We are the dreamers of dreams, wandering by lone sea-breakers, and sitting by desolate streams –"

Deneve watches Helen take a shot, lean too far backwards and teeter on the edge. She braces for some impact, but instead Helen crumples onto her bare shoulder. She feels Helen's hands trying to find a grip. She brushes them off.

But Helen still manages to plant her chin on her shoulder. When she opens her mouth, her breath torches Deneve's cheek.

"Movers and shakers of the world - of the world forever it seems –"

"Since when did you do poetry?"

She feels Helen's arm now, a bar across her back, her nails jabbing into her other cheek. "C'mon Deneve. The Organisation's gone! It's the end of the world and we've won! Best time to get smashed!"

She straightens up. She flicks Helen's arm off her, as if she were drawing her sword. There's nothing left of the sunset now, not even the bruise-coloured clouds. All Deneve sees is a ceiling of relentless black. In the dark the hills look like the overturned hulls of ships. Below, the survivors of their successful storming of Staff begin to light fires.

She polishes her bare knee with her palm, and thinks of this stark new reality: all the men in her life are gone. Dead. Not that they mattered much anyway. She had helped the trainees and the others hunt down every last one. All her enemies, really, were men. She had expected some Awakened female warrior. But no. Not counting Hysteria, all the warmongers, mad ones and people she wanted so desperately to kill were men.

Yes, she thinks, we've won. She imagines Miria holding Rimuto's head like a basket, and she knows, really, that it's the end of the world. Whenever she imagines Miria's hand grasping onto that head and the strings of that man's neck like tassels trailing on the ground, she feels the blood kick through her veins.

Everything's quiet for a while. Then, Helen throws up.

Deneve sighs. Her breath bursts out before her in short-lived clouds. Above, the knuckle of the crescent moon slips above the nearest building and pulls itself upward.

"You're wrong, Helen," she says, staring at the moon.

"What?"

"It's not about sunrise or sunset," Deneve says. "The truth is the sun doesn't care about anything. It just minds its own business while we live and die."

Deneve sees Helen lumber over: a dark twisted shape reeking of vomit and alcohol. She extends a hand like a pale star to touch her. Deneve feels her hand stroke her head as she says:

"Awww… so philosophical of you! This night's getting better already!"

Helen's hand is a counterfeit of patience, never staying one place at once, trembling. Deneve catches it before it goes too far.

"With wonderful deathless ditties, we build up the world's great cities!" Helen goes on, taking another shot, spilling her drink all over Deneve's lap. She isn't sure if Helen is doing this just to annoy her.

Moonlight brings out the sweat on Helen's arms. Deneve looks past her friend to see the legions of stars blink to life across the hills, the moon above as luminous as milk.

"Helen."

"And out of a fabulous story, we fashion and empire's glory! One woman with a dream, at pleasure, shall go forth and conquer –"

Deneve grabs a fistful of Helen's shirt. With a single motion, she swats away the bottle and holds her straight.

"Helen, shut up," she says, before pushing her down.

Helen's protests are no match for the muscle of her tongue.

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_END_

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Written on 06.06.2012. Appreciate all comments & criticisms :)

Helen is reciting bits and pieces of the the poem Ode, by Arthur O'Shaughnessy.

This my 2nd attempt to return to writing Claymore fics after a one-year hiatus. I've recently reread the entire manga and it has proved a great source of inspiration. Let's see how long this will last.


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